


foxglove and nightshade

by shirogains



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bonding, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Dr. Lance's Roundabout Space Therapy, Humor, M/M, Minor season 4 spoilers, catharsis through food consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 13:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogains/pseuds/shirogains
Summary: "This is so typical of you," a familiar voice drawls from somewhere behind Keith, by the foot of the stairwell. "When you're upset, your solution is to find some isolated, dramatic spot and brood."Keith tucks himself more into the corner, pointedly avoiding eye-contact. “I came here to be alone.”“Sure you did,” Lance says airily, the upswinging lilt in his tone clearly intended to dig under Keith’s skin, and it works. “That’s why you chose the Harry Potter stairwell, right? Maximum angst factor, a lot of foot traffic. Makes sense, since it’s, y’know, the one right by the banquet hall.”Keith grinds the teeth on one side of his mouth. “Not in the mood, Lance.”“But when are you ever in the mood for anything except punch-ups and sulking?” Lance snorts. “For the sake of your dignity, please step into my office.” He makes a grand sweeping gesture toward the kitchen, where servers have been milling in and out of all night with platters of foreign alien food and pitchers of neon-green liquid that Keith suspects may actually be Midori, since a lone sip of it almost knocked him on his ass.





	foxglove and nightshade

**Author's Note:**

> vague timeline, probably sometime in episode 1-2 of season 4.
> 
> i'll likely continue this as a series of canon-compliant snapshot moments between episodes. we shall see :> first time writing klance so be gentle with me (sweat)

"This is so typical of you," a familiar voice drawls from somewhere behind Keith, by the foot of the stairwell. "When you're upset, your solution is to find some isolated, dramatic spot and brood."

Keith tucks himself more into the corner, pointedly avoiding eye-contact. “I came here to be alone.”

“Sure you did,” Lance says airily, the upswinging lilt in his tone clearly intended to dig under Keith’s skin, and it works. “That’s why you chose the Harry Potter stairwell, right? Maximum angst factor, a lot of foot traffic. Makes sense, since it’s, y’know, the one right by the banquet hall.”

Keith grinds the teeth on one side of his mouth. “Not in the mood, Lance.”

“But when are you _ever_ in the mood for anything except punch-ups and sulking?” Lance snorts. “For the sake of your dignity, please step into my office.” He makes a grand sweeping gesture toward the kitchen, where servers have been milling in and out of all night with platters of foreign alien food and pitchers of neon-green liquid that Keith suspects may actually be Midori, since a lone sip of it almost knocked him on his ass.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Your office?”

“I’m offering therapeutic services to you _for free_ ,” Lance retorts, stressing the syllables.

“Pass.” As if Keith has any money—alien or human—to trade for it, even if he were inclined to part with it in exchange for Lance’s back-alley psychology.

Lance plants his hands on his hips indignantly. “The least you could do is play along with the scenario. Jeez, humour me a little, or were you born without a funny bone _and_ a conscience? Talk about a double threat.”

Keith elects not to dignify the jibe with a response, though he casts a brief, reproving look at Lance. “In the kitchen.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Really,” Keith says disbelievingly. “Your solution is food.”

“Food never hurt anybody,” Lance chides, wagging a finger. “And it can definitely turn any frown upside down, even one as sour as yours. That’s a scientific fact corroborated by my own thorough experimentation. Now c’mon, before I change my mind and send Hunk out here to deal with you.” He bounces his eyebrows with a roguish grin, a look so comical that Keith smothers a chuckle despite himself. “I ‘spose a prolonged, sweaty bear hug could cheer you up just as fast. You know how he swears by them.”

Keith heaves a sigh. “I feel like I’m gonna regret this,” he muses, “but fine.”

He heads through the door Lance holds open for him, carding a hand through his hair. Their presence draws a few questioning glances from the chefs and a kitchen hand taking inventory of a cupboard stocked to overflowing with strange-looking plants and pink, oblong-shaped vegetables the size of a football.

“Excuse me.” Lance exaggerates a cough, and seizes Keith by the arm. “We’ll just be, uh…”

“Hey,” Keith protests even as he allows himself to be dragged inside what appears to be a dessert pantry.

He wouldn’t touch a single item lining the shelves but Lance has no such reservations, kicking the door shut before he saunters over to a tray that’s still steaming hot and plucking up a yellow pastry resembling a tart.

“So,” he mumbles around his first mouthful with an expectant smirk, “do you feel better yet or what?”

Keith stares. “No. We just moved rooms.”

“A change of scenery is good for the soul,” Lance informs him, clambering onto a counter. Keith wonders how rigorous alien sanitation protocol is, wrinkling his nose when Lance draws his legs up and crosses them, one foot thumping on top of the opposite knee. The underside of his sneaker is crusted with god-knows-what. “Now lay it on me, Keith. Let’s start the _real_ healing.”

“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” Keith mutters, leaning against the opposite bench. He folds his arms, grimacing when Lance pokes at a cup of something jet-black with a jelly-like consistency, then lifts it to his mouth with a pleased hum. “Chew before you talk.”

Lance shoots him a flat look, jabbing the spoon at Keith. “You have to give it a chance to work. With patience comes great responsibility and all that jazz.”

Keith snorts. “It’s with great power comes great responsibility. That doesn’t apply here anyway.”

“Oh, yeah. Spiderman, right?” Lance digs into the jelly again, shoveling the last of it into his mouth. “And actually, it kind of does. Are you pissed off because Shiro yelled at you? He just lost his cool, and you know that’s the Shiro-way of trying to make you see it from the other perspective. He’s doing the best he can, Keith. Cut him some slack, and cut yourself some slack, too.”

Instantaneously, Keith averts his eyes to glower at the wall. His silence is both telling and deafening, and he half-expects Lance to crow in triumph or gloat, or go running back to Shiro with the news that Keith is brooding in the kitchen, sorely in need of a pick-me-up or a stern talking to.

Instead, Lance holds out a cup of the jelly substance to him, his expression resolute. “Here. Trust me on this. It has healing properties manuka honey can only dream of.”

 _That’s ridiculous_ , Keith wants to protest. _Food is for fuel, not for comfort._

Nonetheless, he takes the jelly cup and frowns at it deeply.

“It’s not gonna bite you,” Lance taunts.

“The things I let you and Shiro talk me into,” Keith grouses before petulantly lifting the spoon to his mouth to try some. He swallows gingerly, furrowing a brow in concentration.

“Well?” Lance presses.

He almost chokes at the taste, his eyes darting back up to Lance’s in disbelief.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “That’s good.”

Lance’s face lights up. “See? I told you. That’ll teach you to obey the doctor’s orders next time.”

“You’re not a doctor,” Keith ripostes, scooping up more jelly. “Fortunately for every living organism in the known universe.”

Lance aims his empty cup at a bin on the other side of the kitchen, lines it up, and flings it over, only for it to bounce off the rim and roll under a cupboard. He kicks the counter idly with a heel and turns his nose up, scoffing.

“A minor technicality. I might not be a doctor on paper but I have the same intuitiveness and an eagle-eye for sickness.”

“Spare me your fictitious credentials,” Keith says, dropping the spoon into the now-empty cup and setting it aside.

“Anyway,” Lance counters, “the point is that my remedy worked. You feel better, right?”

Keith is silent for a moment before he nods fractionally and mutters, “A little.”

Satisfied, Lance sits back, his shoe still thumping against the cupboard in a rhythm that would give Keith a headache if he weren’t so preoccupied with the morning’s events. Shiro’s voice has reverberated through his head all day, and though the words have yet to sink in, it’s the tone he used that left Keith’s stomach tied in knots. 

“Now the real question,” Lance says at length, “is why you’re so pissed that Shiro shouted at you.”

Keith chews at the inside of his cheek pensively. “We’ll need more food for that.”

Lance throws open the cupboard over his head with a broad grin. “We have that in spades.”

“And alcohol.”

“We can make do.”

Keith suppresses the urge to squirm under Lance’s determined gaze. He knows it’s Lance’s way of attempting to help him, being more of a hindrance in some ways, but even Keith knows good intentions when he sees them. On Earth, he might have disparaged Lance’s methods, called it prying or told Lance to mind his own business. But they are galaxies away from Earth now, probably light years from home, and Keith has gotten to know Lance for better or worse through their forced proximity and close quarters. Even if Lance is irritating more often than not, his heart is always in the right place.

“Give me another one of those,” he says, nodding at the jelly cups. Lance complies, tossing one over. Keith tears the wrapping off, a smirk flickering across his face. “And just stay quiet for a bit. I need to vent.”

Lance makes a zipping motion across his lips, then grins and leans back to get comfortable. “I’m all ears for our esteemed leader.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! :>
> 
> tumblr: [shirogains](http://shirogains.tumblr.com/)  
> twitter: [shirogains](https://twitter.com/shirogains)
> 
> feedback is appreciated ♡


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